


The Khaleesi and Her Lady

by unwindmyself



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You treat me as a woman, not as an idea."<br/>"And you treat me a woman and not a slavegirl whore."<br/>A chronicle of the changing relationship between Daenerys and Doreah, largely in the Red Waste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first night after the dragons are born, before the khalasar has made to move on, Daenerys excuses herself early. Irri has fretted over her, soothing the burns that never appear on her skin, and Jorah murmurs contemplations until she raises a hand in protest. "Tomorrow," she says simply, and she gathers her skirts in her hand as if to leave.

"Of course, Khaleesi," Jorah defers, and he rises to offer her a hand up. She declines it, though politely, and clambers to her feet with a wan smile.

When night falls, the others begin to splinter off; "Look in on her," Jorah instructs Irri, sounding like he might want to himself but supposes he shouldn't.

"I'll go," Doreah offers immediately, jumping up and nodding to Irri to hang back. The other handmaid is, after all, the busiest of them, forever doing for others and fretting over them. She deserves a chance to lay her head down quickly, and Doreah is glad to offer it.  Truly.

They all exchange politenesses before hurrying their own ways; Doreah thinks she catches a suspicious glance from Jorah, but nothing is discussed.  Nothing ever is between them.

"Khaleesi?" she half-calls as she lets herself into the tent, almost hesitant. "Are you already asleep?"

A moment passes in silence, then, face still buried in her pillows, Dany murmurs, "Doreah?"

"Yes, Khaleesi," Doreah says quickly, drawing closer. "I did not wake you, I hope?"

"You did not," Daenerys assures, and Doreah could swear to hearing a soft sigh before she continues. "I've been having difficulty falling asleep, I'll admit."

"I imagine an empty bed would take getting used to," Doreah muses before she can think better of it or at the least temper it with the necessary - no, not _necessary_ , but appropriate - politenesses, and once she realizes what she's said, she claps her hand over her mouth, mentally chastizing herself. "I'm – I'm sorry, Khaleesi, I did not mean to –"

Dany rolls over to meet the other woman's eyes, still clutching the blanket to her.  She looks more the easily-spooked girl who Doreah gave all of those lessons to than the fierce dragon queen born for them from the flames. "You're right, though," she whispers. She wonders sometimes if Doreah can read her mind, and she's surprised by how little it fazes her.  Perhaps it's just one of Doreah's gifts, that intuition.  "You needn't apologize."

"Shall I leave you to sleep?" Doreah asks weakly, cursing the color still in her cheeks.

"Not yet," Dany says, sitting up in bed. "Stay with me awhile?  If you'd like, of course."  Off Doreah's assenting nod, Dany pats a spot near her feet, eyes suddenly shining.  She's long considered Doreah a friend more than a servant or slave, and she has blessed little knowledge of how to partake in proper friendships, but this seems fitting. "It will do me good, I think."

Doreah nods again, still tentative - she knows even less of these things, and is still having to remind herself of the changed boundaries that come with her newly-given freedom - and sits in the proposed place. "Would you have me braid your hair?" she offers, finding that a simple default.

"May I braid yours?" Daenerys asks in counterpoint, so much like that little girl again. "I would like that very much."

Doreah has to try consciously not to show her surprise – not because her queen is not so generous or kind, she is, but because this simply isn't done.

_Wasn't_ done, she supposes.

"All right, then," she murmurs, and she turns to allow it.

It's quiet as Dany combs through her hair, working out each tangle carefully – and there are more than it would look - until from the corner, one of the dragons coos, and both girls startle.  "Does he need something?" Doreah asks, almost fretfully.

"More likely he's just waking for long enough to turn over and stretch his wings," Dany speculates. "They've different sounds for different feelings, like we do." She starts to section Doreah's hair off, thoughtful. "They're quite expressive creatures."

Doreah grins at that. "And they're quite handsome," she declares. "You should be very proud of them."

"I am," Daenerys agrees. "Thankful as well." There is no need to explain this further, and it hangs between them like smoke from incense, thick and almost tangible, until Dany asks, "Are you happy, Doreah?"

"Of course I am," is the reply, eager and hurried.

"Truly?" Dany presses, concerned.

"Khaleesi, I am freer here with you than ever before," Doreah whispers, startling herself with the confession. "Most of all in my soul. Yes, I am happy."

"For that, I am glad," Daenerys says, tying the braid off. "I want you to be."

Impulsively, or consolingly, or something such as, Doreah reaches for Dany's arms and arranges them around her own waist; Dany rests her head against Doreah's shoulder, her lips catching bare skin by accident, and if the other girl notices (of course she does) she doesn't say it.

"Would it be too much to ask you to stay all night?" Daenerys whispers.

"No," Doreah says immediately. "No, certainly not. I am glad to."

She makes to busy herself with arranging a place on the ground, but Dany pulls her blankets back and bites her lip. "If it is not too bothersome," she murmurs, and she finds she can't meet her handmaid's eyes.

"Certainly not," Doreah repeats, feeling suddenly shy herself. Gingerly, she slips under the covers.

"Please," Dany insists. "Get as comfortable as you'd like."

Not to take her queen up on such an offer would be ungrateful, Doreah knows this, and – well. She keeps her hands to herself this time, or she starts to (she thinks perhaps she should) but after laying there a minute in silence, Dany reaches for her hand, pulls it over her waist.

So shall it be.

Doreah swallows – she can't ignore how warm she feels, nor how nervous – but she shifts a bit, her fingertips brushing the bare skin of Daenerys' belly. "Good night, Khaleesi," she whispers.

"Good night, Doreah."


	2. Chapter 2

They have been in the waste for what feels like months (it's a week in truth) and the khalasar is starting to feel the effects. Food grows scarce, lips and skin grow chapped, horses grow weary, and Daenerys grows edgy. She tries not to show it, of course, and many of her people would not think to notice it, but those closest to her worry and bear the brunt of it simultaneously.

It becomes Irri's job more than ever to tell the khaleesi any hopeful thing she can, to run interference with the others as needed.  She is more than ever the head of household. Dany's bloodriders try to cheer her with stories of their own, told jovially and as a means of distraction, but she cannot always bring herself to want their tales of battle and conquest. More than once, although not often, she snaps at Jorah, and he never snaps back.

And Doreah still finds herself coming into the khaleesi's tent every night, distracting her with massages and hair-playing and arms around her waist as they sleep.  Deceptively simple things, things that belong by rights to normal girls and not girls like them but things that they have nonetheless claimed.

Things keep up like this for what seems like ages: the days and nights drag on, they lose a few people, they lose some hope. Only the dragons seem to flourish, riding in their basket-cages and on Dany's shoulders, growing and seeming to explore everything around them. Sometimes Doreah is permitted to hold them, and every time she is her heart swells with pride.

Yes, she is happy.

When they have lost track of days completely, a rash of sickness breaks out amongst the khalasar. Dear sweet Jhiqui is one of the first to fall ill, her eyes going dull and her skin going somehow raw, and she deteriorates so rapidly that there is barely time to pretend they could heal her or hope for her to recover. Daenerys calls them to a halt almost immediately, she sits by her handmaid's side and paces outside of her tent.  By nightfall, though, Jhiqui is gone.

When Doreah tiptoes into the khaleesi's tent that night, she hears Daenerys before she sees her. Her tears are unmistakable, she is sitting on the ground next to her bed with her head in her hands and her knees drawn to her chest.

"Khaleesi," Doreah begins, like she always does. They've never discussed why they still play at this being spur-of-the-moment from night to night, but then, they've never discussed _what_ this is, either.  It seems somehow more than a maid and her queen, somehow even more than friends, but not like anything they know how to define. Doreah settles herself on the bed, close but not too close, and thinks how unusual this is. Even when the khal died, she did not see Daenerys like this; she does not cry anymore, not when others will bear witness.  In a way, it's unnerving. "Ought I to go? Would you like to be alone tonight?"

Still crying, not speaking, Dany pushes herself off of the ground; she throws her arms around Doreah and sobs into her shoulder. Doreah startles, but she's quick to wrap her arms around Dany too, to rub her back soothingly. She murmurs soft nothings in the other girl's ear, she cradles her as she shudders and hiccups and wails.  Comfort is something she knows well how to offer.

"Khaleesi," Doreah begins yet again. "It will be all right, it –"

Dany takes a breath, then before she can stop herself she's leaned in to kiss Doreah almost desperately, squeezing her eyes shut and moving a hand to the brunette's cheek. Doreah, for her part, kisses back by instinct, at least until she lets herself get truly caught up in it: it seems the most natural of things, unexpected especially in this moment and yet hardly surprising.

Doreah and Dany's bodies are well-acquainted, but Doreah has to stop herself from chuckling at the notion that this is, in fact, their first kiss.

When Daenerys pulls back from it, gasping and blushing and suddenly wide-eyed, Doreah moves to kiss the tears from her cheeks. Neither of them can think of what to say; for a moment they just sit there, hands still idling on each other's bodies, staring one another in some kind of shock.

"I – I am out of line," Dany whispers, belatedly dropping her gaze as a thousand thousand worries run through her mind.  "I should not have –"

"Daenerys," Doreah says tenderly. "My queen. You do not overstep." She lets her smile grow playful and encouraging, lets herself find the words slowly. "I'd like you to continue, if you would."

Dany blinks, suddenly retreating into shyness. "I would," she agrees, reaching for the other girl's hand. "Not now, perhaps, but soon."

"Of course," Doreah nods. She plants a kiss on Dany's cheek, tucks blonde hair behind her ear.  Neither of them can seem to stop touching the other; they are assuring the other and themselves simultaneously. "May I stay, though?"

"Of course," Daenerys echoes, almost giggling over what an obvious answer it is.

They take their places in bed, what have already become their usual places, though their bodies are pressed closer together than before and Doreah holds her queen a bit tighter about the waist.  Once they are settled, she leans close to Dany's ear to whisper, "You ought not to blame yourself, you know." For Jhiqui, for everything, for anything.

"There is nothing and no-one else to blame, really," Daenerys replies solemnly. "It only means I must swear over that I shall protect my people."


	3. Chapter 3

During the days, which are naught but traveling, Doreah stays close to the khaleesi, and nobody thinks a thing of it. It is hers and Irri's to tend to her needs, it always has been, and it becomes Doreah's to help with the dragons, too. Nobody else save Daenerys can get close to them: they screech at most of the men, they flap their wings agitatedly at Irri, and nobody quite knows why this is.  Certainly it cannot be that they match their opinions of people to their mother's, since she cares for all of her people, and sure, she has always been closer to Doreah than to the others, she does seem to favor her, but it is not something worth speculating over.

During the nights, which are almost frantic resting, Doreah stays close to the khaleesi, and nobody thinks a thing of it. Not Jorah, who has a way of seeming ever alone no matter how many people surround him, but everyone else seems to keep another close in the waste: Rakharo and Irri have fallen together, though they say no such thing, they bicker and bark at each other as much as ever but she is in his tent come evening and if either of them are summoned during the night, they emerge with kiss-swollen lips and disheveled hair.  Others of the khalasar roll their cots out near each other, searching for safety and kinship alike.  That the khaleesi would want a similar sort of company is not surprising, and that she would ask it of Doreah, who she favors, is not unusual and not something worth speculating over.

Doreah does not say anything to a single soul, she does not press, but she knows that she and Daenerys are building to something.

One night when Doreah enters the tent, disarranged from chores done around the campfire and unsuspecting, Dany is waiting right there for her. Without even a hello, she flings her arms around the other girl and about attacks her with kisses.  Each night she grows more confident in this, it seems.

"My," Doreah laughs. "An ambush, I see."

"Only a bit of one," Daenerys exclaims, giggling against Doreah's skin.

"Are you intending…?" Doreah asks softly.  She knows, after all, how to read signs in such matters.

Dany nods and she tugs Doreah toward the bed. "I am," she murmurs coyly, and she slips her robe off.  

Taking the hint, Doreah undresses herself as well, dropping her clothes to the ground more slowly. "How would you like me?" she asks, almost from habit.

"However _you_ would like to be," Dany says firmly, and they both understand in this moment how this is supposed to play out, what it should and shouldn't be. This is a seduction, perhaps, a queen's accomplishment, but not a conquest.  Never that.

So Doreah falls back against the furs and pulls Daenerys with her, eliciting a wild and yet somehow soft shriek from the blonde. "I like this," she declares, twining their fingers and smiling at the slight weight of Dany straddling her hips.

"Mm, all right," Daenerys hums, and she rolls her hips, staring at Doreah with her gentlest-eyed gaze. "You're very beautiful, you know."

Doreah blushes and looks away for a moment, taken aback. "You are too kind," she murmurs. She has heard it said enough times that she doesn't believe it anymore, not really, but she trusts her queen's intentions.

Of course, Dany sees this doubt written in her face, and she wants to assure her of the truth, but another time, perhaps.  This is meant to be a time of simple pleasures, not of hushed debates like she suspects would occur.  Instead, she slowly slides two fingers between the other woman's legs, caressing her with the other hand. "I remember my lessons," she whispers playfully, arching her back just a bit. 

"I've many more I could teach you," Doreah says, biting her lip. "I think you'll like them."

"I'm sure of that," Dany giggles.

She works her fingers awhile, and they're silent save Doreah's increasingly needy moans. _Love comes in at the eyes_ , Doreah had said, and though they don't quite know what to say, they see everything that they need to reflected in one another's gazes.

As Doreah gets close, the moans heighten; she finds them matching to the little sighs escaping Daenerys' lips, and though it takes some concentration, she travels fingers to her queen's wrist. Sure enough, her pulse is racing, her skin is hot: she's ready, it would seem, to have her turn.  All the better.

But one thing at a time: smile shifting from playful to tender and back, Daenerys focuses on Doreah's release, taking cues about what pleases her the most from the other woman's fevered whimpers and doing the best things over and over again. When Doreah comes, it starts slow and builds – she digs fingers into Dany's arm, squeezes her eyes shut just to concentrate on the sensation, and when she tries to remember the last time someone got these reactions from her really and truly, she comes up blank.

"Well," she pants, grinning foolishly. She pulls Dany off of her and into a cuddle, arms tight around her waist.  Reveling in the afterward is a luxury she was not often allowed nor one she often desired in her past life, but now it would seem to be the most perfect thing she can imagine. "And a good evening to you, too, Khaleesi."

Daenerys beams proudly. "You are happy?"

"I am," Doreah whispers, and she moves to press a light kiss to Dany's lips, all affection. "I am the luckiest woman in Essos, I think."

"You needn't play at flattery," Daenerys insists, blushing wildly.

"I assure you I don't," Doreah says, quiet and resolute at once. "As a child, I thought my life was already decided. I had resigned myself to it. And now by some chance, I find myself here, where I could never have imagined."

"I cannot think any of us would have known we would be here," Daenerys murmurs, wistful and almost melancholy for a moment. "The circumstances are something from a story."

"And you its heroine," Doreah adds, smiling and hoping it catches on. "The brave, beautiful princess-khaleesi-queen, with all of the ambition and nobility you could ever need."

"And there's plenty of mysticism and romance thrown in the story, too," Dany chimes in mischievously. Sure enough, the light has come back in her eyes.

"As befits such an epic," Doreah agrees. "Of course, even queens can stand to learn things once in a while, provided they are willing."

"I am," Daenerys exclaims eagerly. "I am _very_ willing to learn from you."

Nodding decisively, Doreah sits up on her knees. "Lay on your back for me, Khaleesi," she instructs. "I intend this to be a lesson by example."

All Dany can do is position herself appropriately and mumble "yes" – any more, and she fears suddenly how silly she'll seem, how naïve even now.

Doreah crawls down the bed, her smile growing. This is as much a lesson as it is her fulfilling a sudden desperate need.  "Now, just trust me," she whispers, and she spreads the other woman's legs farther apart, stroking between them absently and then licking the wetness from her fingers. "You're right to be excited, and you needn't be nervous. I promise you'll like this."

"You have not steered me wrong yet," Daenerys says with an apprehensive laugh.

A smirk, this one almost licentious, and Doreah adjusts her position, drops her head between her queen's legs. Before Dany can think to question, she feels Doreah's tongue between her folds; she trusts her, she does, but it startles her nonetheless.  She had finished Drogo with her mouth, but she'd somehow never thought of him doing the same, and perhaps that is for the better: as moments pass and she becomes more comfortable with this, she's beginning to think that she could happily employ all of her free hours being so tended to by Doreah and tending to her in kind, forsaking all other things for the exchange of these sensations.

She is not conscious of the sounds she must be making, but Doreah clearly is; they must be something, because the brunette lifts her head for just a moment, giggling, to softly chide, "Ssh, Khaleesi."

Dany nods solemnly, biting her lips together, and Doreah resumes her lesson. She licks at Dany experimentally, trying to find which places suit her best, and listens for the necessary hints, the muttered, "Seven hells, Doreah," that's given when her tongue explores Dany's center.  _Quiet_ is proving impossible to achieve, but  _quieter_ is dutifully attempted.

Doreah hums her approval as she keeps at it, savoring the other woman's sweetness; when she's fairly certain Dany is about to lose it, she goes to kiss her bud, sucking and licking at it with purpose.  Dany gasps at that, and one of her hands flies to Doreah's shoulders, gently urging her on. Doreah, for her part, just smiles to herself and keeps at it, varying her speed and enjoying how it makes Dany whimper. This goes on for a little while, and then –

"Khaleesi?" comes Jorah's voice from outside the tent. Doreah rolls her eyes, Dany throws her head back against the pillows with a soft, frustrated groan. "Khaleesi, are you –"

Doreah sits up, presses a finger to her lips teasingly, then moves that finger between Dany's legs to keep her on the edge. "She is already asleep, ser," she calls out, stroking at Daenerys insistently; for her part, the blonde grabs idly for a scrap of fabric, stuffing it between her teeth to quiet her moans. "Shall I wake her? Is it urgent?"

All the while, she is concentrating her attentions on Dany's swollen clit and grinning devilishly, and Dany cannot help but to cry out and pray it is stifled enough not to give them away.

Outside, Jorah must be standing with arms folded, making a face. It's easy to imagine by the tone of his voice when he concedes, "I just thought we might discuss plans, but it is not pressing. Do not trouble her."

Doreah beams, eyes never leaving Dany's as she shouts, "I will tell her when she wakes. Good night, ser."

"Good night," he mutters, sounding as if he does not want to show how aggrieved he feels, and once his retreat can be heard, Doreah pulls the fabric from her queen's mouth and slides down to finish her. She revels in the taste of her, the high, strained moans, the hand pressing on her shoulder.

Daenerys lies still for a full minute once she's come, recovering, and Doreah doesn't push; she lies down beside her, licking her lips, and waits with a smile.

"Yes," Dany says finally, smiling widely. "I enjoyed that lesson very much."


	4. Chapter 4

They've been traveling since early morning, the sun beating down on them and everyone wanting for nourishment.  Daenerys and those of her inner circle, her queensguard-that-isn't-quite, are in the lead, heads held higher than they perhaps feel and determination written on each of their faces; the idle conversations of morning fade out quickly and much of the day is spent in silence.  When they've reached a mild enough spot, Daenerys nods to Jorah, just once – he understands.

"We make camp here," he calls to the khalasar, and everyone lets drop their things, settling into the surroundings as best they can. Kovarro hurries to pitch Daenerys' tent for her, Aggo to tether the remaining horses; after seeing to her dragons, Dany helps as much as she's allowed (it isn't much, but it's something) and offers smiles to anyone who looks to need one.

The night is busy, benevolence and productivity taking more hours than she would have expected, and Doreah is already waiting for her when she enters the tent, stripped down and wrapped in one of her robes (it must be territorial, Dany thinks, though she's not sure whether she's thinking of Doreah's intentions in claiming the garment or of her own reaction to the sight of it, her stomach flipping and her heart thrumming in her chest). "I thought you would never be mine tonight," Doreah teases, stepping away from the dragons' cages.

Daenerys rolls her eyes playfully. "There are many things to tend to," she says, her voice rough, barely above a whisper. She goes to Doreah, smiling shyly and reaching for her hand. "Are they resting, then?"

"Peacefully as they are able," Doreah confirms.  After a pause, she brushes her other hand down Dany's throat, frowning deeply. "You are unwell, Khaleesi?"

"I sound much worse than I feel," Dany corrects, and Doreah thinks those the strong and stubborn words of one who feels they must stay untouched by even something as simple as a common cold so as not to dispirit others.  A noble intention, and one Dany is apparently convinced she must carry out. "I'm a bit hoarse, but nothing more than that."

"Let me take care of you anyway," Doreah declares, and it makes the other girl blush.  Of course Doreah sees through her, of course Doreah is more concerned with what's _actually_ good for her than what she herself feels is appropriate.

Even quieter than the rest, taking all of this to heart, Dany murmurs, "You always take care of me."  Meant as much as a polite almost-rebuttal - she doesn't _need_ to be taken care of, really she doesn't - as a show of gratitude.  What is appropriate and what is true, too.

"And you take care of all of us." Insistently, though carefully, Doreah tugs Daenerys toward the bed, pulls her shirt over her head, and nudges her down so she's lying prone with her arms at her sides.  She leans to whisper in Daenerys' ear, "Even queens need to let someone else shoulder the burdens awhile."

When she straddles Dany's hips, Dany whimpers, turning her head to one side. "I could not ask it –" She interrupts herself and this last effort at protestation with a little sigh as Doreah digs thumbs into her shoulders, and held at her sides, her hands curl into fists. "Oh, gods," is the only coherent thing she manages to get out.

"The tension you carry will never cease to amaze me," Doreah murmurs, chuckling as she kneads down Daenerys' spine.  She can only imagine how heavy the weight of everything on her queen's shoulders is, and in that way it makes sense, but she's also never known anyone else's muscles to knot so easily, to practically crackle at the slightest touch.

"Your – your hands will never cease to amaze _me_ ," Daenerys breathes, letting her eyes flutter shut and arching just enough to show Doreah where to focus. "They're too –"

"Too what, Khaleesi?" Doreah chirps innocently. "Skilled? Tempting, perhaps?"

She hits a particularly tight spot, and Dany moans softly. "Both of those and more," she insists. "You are unlike anyone I've known."

"I hope that's not just because of what I do to you in here," Doreah laughs (it's a joke and a genuine concern both, probably).

"Oh, no." Dany shifts again – being completely still is sometimes hard for her in these moments – and smiles. "It's for many reasons, Reah. It's because you're so good to me." She stops speaking for a moment, worries her lip until she decides to just come out and say it. "Why _are_ you so good to me?"

"Khaleesi?" Doreah mumbles, suddenly taken aback. "I – it is right, you are my queen."

"But you treat me as more than that," Daenerys presses.  She can count on one hand the number of people in her life who have properly been close to her, cared for her so intimately, though it takes some effort to articulate this. Finally, she settles on explaining, "You treat me as a woman, not as an idea."

With a silent sigh, Doreah pushes Dany's hair aside and kisses her throat, gracious and affectionate. "And you treat me a woman and not a slavegirl whore," she points out.  "I am good to you as you are good to me."

They are both unused to this, after all; Doreah has always been able to say who she is in relation _to_ the khaleesi, she is a servant and handmaid, but it's only recently that she's begun to wonder about the relationship she has _with_ the khaleesi.  For all of the politenesses she still employs, all of the differences in their positions she still acknowledges, she's fairly sure that she is not _just_ a servant anymore, and that maybe she never fully was. 

Without looking back, Dany reaches for the other girl's hand, stilling it a moment. "Thank you, Reah," she says softly.

Like that, for example.  It's something so small, but it's telling nonetheless.  She's almost positive nobody has called her that before: it was her full name or more likely just "girl" in the pleasure house, and when she was first bought and brought to the khalasar, some of the khal's men used to call her "Dori," which she assumed was their way of trying to fit her in, show her that she may have been a girl of the Free Cities but now she was a Dothraki woman.  Whether they intended it as if she were a little sister or as if she were someone they saw as an inevitable trophy was more unclear, but she noticed it stopped when they all started noticing how protective the khaleesi was of her - well, of all her maids, but very likely her most of all - so she suspects the latter.

"Reah," though?  That is something still new and beautiful.

"Ssh now," Doreah says, after a moment adding, "Rest your voice, Dany." It's almost tentative – she is still wary of such things, it is one thing for a queen to use a nickname for her handmaid who is likely more than a handmaid to her, but for the handmaid to do the same to her queen is a different matter entirely – but she sees the blonde break out smiling as she nods.

"I promise," she mouths, and Doreah beams and taps her khaleesi's lips before continuing to pamper her.


	5. Chapter 5

They have not been carrying many things, little save what is needed, but settling themselves into Xaro Xhoan Doxos' estate is still a time-consuming process, one that gets many of Daenerys' people cranky. This place does not suit the Dothraki, who seem and feel at odds with the overwrought splendor, and this is no home to Daenerys. She does not take comfort in the great stone fortress or decadence beyond the comfort of having found shelter and respite and possibilities. The invitations she finds herself denied and then bombarded with unnerve her, the flattery sits uncomfortably with her.

Irri does not belong here: she is like most of the khalasar in that way. She is distrustful of this foreign city, wary in its walls, though she will appear to trust if her khaleesi says so. Jorah paces the halls with a suspicious look on his face; he is distrustful of everyone here. Daenerys reads it as protectiveness, Doreah as overprotective paranoia. (Dany also doesn't see the way Jorah looks at her, or she pretends not to, while Doreah very much does and bristles at it. Jorah sees Daenerys as an idea.)

Doreah could belong here if she had to, and it is, just as before, hers to teach the necessary coquetries, the necessary ways of engaging these strangers. This society is not hers, strictly speaking, but it is close to the one she was taught to ingratiate herself to.  She can find herself suited to at least a part of it.

Irri is suspicious of the city, and she has become suspicious, too, of what goes on in the khaleesi's bed: more than once she's caught looking askance at the other women, trying to puzzle out the differences between the warmth the khaleesi offers everyone and that which she offers her favored handmaid (she is not jealous, simply perplexed and weighed by what is and is not proper) and though Daenerys smiles sweeter each time and brushes it off, Doreah has come to raise her eyebrows right back.

"Is something the matter, Irri?" she always asks.

"Nothing," Irri always says in return, terse as ever, but they all know it's never nothing.

They make ready the gifts that have been given: most, not all, for the Mother of Dragons, shows of esteem that have not yet worn thin.  Beautiful things, silks and brocades and metals, things to wear and to drape about and to luxuriate in: Irri feels unsuited to them, Doreah and Dany are curious about what they might mean.  All three have been bought and sold before, though it ended differently each time, and all three know what it looks like; it is not why they are here, though, which is cause for their varying suspicions.

"Men like to talk about other men when they're happy," Dany giggles coyly as they prepare, reciting her handmaid's teachings to new effect, and Irri pulls a face, doubtful.

"What do you want of her, Khaleesi?" she asks under her breath.  It is the only time she will think to ask such a thing, the only context in which she feels it acceptable.

"She knows," Daenerys shrugs.

Doreah is to do nothing _she_ does not want, it has been said between them. Tease and play, certainly, they will both have to do some of that (it's a sort of deception, spies like the stories, but it must be done), but these strangers are _not_ entitled to her body if she does not want to give it.

She doesn't. Her body is already in thrall, it is known.

They help Dany into her new dress, Irri waves them off to the party and promises to stay behind and keep care of things (she does not belong at a party like this, and even if she did, she has not been much for socializing since Rakharo's death). Both Dany and Doreah bat their eyelashes every which way at the party guests, tell innocent stories but never too many of them, let themselves be courted as suits their positions; they do not speak of it, but they bat their eyelashes at each other, too, when nobody else will care. They smile and socialize and play along.

Daenerys disappears for hours, and Doreah blinks sweetly at more and more of the guests. To her surprise, she feels her heart in her throat more acutely the longer her khaleesi is gone; her nerves heighten when she sees Xaro is disappeared as well, when she sees Jorah stalk off, and she tries in vain to tamp it down. Her smile grows wider, more playful, more fake; she bestows parting kisses on a pair of merchants who have monopolized her for half an hour or more.

She can't make sense of what she's feeling, and she's not sure that she wants to.

The girls have been given separate quarters here, though adjoining ones, it is only fitting, and Doreah thinks perhaps she ought to use hers tonight. She is less needed here amongst the bustle of the city, she suspects. It was easier to pretend that things made sense out in the sand and sun.

She's pulling the braids from her hair, avoiding her own gaze in the mirror, when there comes a knock at the door and a soft voice calling out, "My lady?"

Quickly, Doreah is at the door, wide-eyed and almost angry for a moment. "I am no lady, Khaleesi," she hisses, ushering the blonde in. She is afraid, tonight more than ever before, of ruining things simply by being here, by continuing to be with Dany in these ways they cannot or do not make to explain.

Daenerys shakes her head, eyes almost glistening. "But you are," she whispers, voice catching. "You are my lady, Doreah."

She throws her arms around the other girl's waist, sighing loudly; Doreah knows in this moment that something is weighing on both of them tonight, though she cannot really know what and in Dany's case cannot even presume. She buries her face in Dany's hair, her eyes shutting, she holds Dany tight to her, and they stand like this for minutes and minutes.

What are they? Ought it to matter?

Finally, Doreah brushes a hand down Dany's cheek; her expression softens, she swallows her worries and puts her lips to Dany's.

"My lady," Daenerys repeats when they break apart.

"Your lady," Doreah echoes, feeling the words fall off of her tongue.  They sound foreign and strange, like the words to a mummer's song; she doesn't know if this is the words themselves or how she interprets hearing them aimed at her in particular.

"Mine," Dany murmurs, insistent and gentle all at once.

Doreah nods slowly.  This she understands. "I am yours, my queen, of course."

"And I yours," Dany adds, barely audible. She wants to have, but to be had at the same time; she wants to willingly give herself, or to make it known that she has, and to know it is willingly returned.  It seems the simplest thing to her, and the truest connection.

Another nod, more hesitant and almost awed.  This, she knows, is something that Irri (and Jorah, and likely most of the Qartheen councilmen) would disapprove of; she's not sure if she can let that prevent it from happening. "Khaleesi," Doreah says out of habit, filling the air between them.

Without another word, Daenerys falls to her knees. She hikes Doreah's skirt up, asks with surprising innocence, "May I take you, my lady?"

Tentatively, Doreah threads fingers in the other girl's hair and tugs her closer. "Please, Dany," she whispers.

A willing reversal.

Drawing a breath, Dany nudges Doreah's knees a bit farther apart and then buries her face in her handmaid's sex. She has _certainly_ learned, Doreah notes; she is intent and tender all at once.  Doreah can count on her hands the times she's had this done to her: daughters of the pleasure houses, no matter how skilled, are rarely given such pleasure without strings.  But then, it would seem that everything has some string or another, that it's just a matter of finding the strings you can tolerate.

"Your Grace," she murmurs, tugging at a handful of blonde hair gently. She is teaching herself the Westerosi addresses, or trying to normalize them amongst the others; many of the khalasar may never learn, but it is important to her to belong to any of the worlds Daenerys finds herself in, however she can.  In this moment, with her queen on her knees and worshipping in this foreign city, swearing sweet true things, she thinks that whatever strings may come trailing off of Daenerys Stormborn, rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms and khaleesi to Drogo's riders, are strings that are worth it.

The longer Dany works, the more acutely she feels her own longing beginning to grow: more than anything, though, she needs _this_ , the taste of Doreah on her tongue and the soft moans falling from Doreah's lips.  She needs to feel Doreah _feeling_ : a day and night of business, of calculations, and she needs to feel that people can mean more than that to each other.  Many people, especially those here, are best suited for convenience, but it has never been clearer to her after tonight that she cannot live on convenience alone.

"Gods, Dany," Doreah sighs, letting her head fall against the wall heavily. " _Right_ there, I –"

She interrupts herself with a groan as she bucks against her queen's mouth; she can sense release beginning in her belly, and Daenerys' tongue on her clit, licking with purpose, makes her bite back an absolute wail and grip the other girl's pale shoulders.  It is a possessive gesture if ever there was, the kind she once was afraid of, the kind she knows now that she is allowed.

Daenerys hums against Doreah's sex, her eyes shut tightly; her fingers press into Doreah's hips as if to urge her on.  She learned from Doreah how to give and take in equal proportion; tonight, all she wants is to give what she has received in many ways already, many times over.

" _Yes_ ," the brunette cries. "Yes, Khaleesi, _please_."

She is a good queen, attentive to the needs of others Doreah thinks, she  _knows_ , and it's not long before she's bringing Doreah to orgasm.  She cannot let herself worry about shrieking with abandon, it is the only thing she can think to do.  Dany has been worshipping, she will add praises of her own to the collection.

Doreah about collapses once she's come, falling daintily into Dany's lap and snuggling close, and Dany wraps arms around her loosely and smiles.

"Thank you," she says against Doreah's hair, that wistful tone back in her voice.

Doreah just laughs. "I'd think I should be the one thanking you," she replies.  Whatever is troubling her queen, she means to help ease the burden as best she can, even if that just means lighthearted teases.

"In a way," Daenerys murmurs, a shadow crossing her face and then flickering away fast as it came. "No matter. I'm glad you're pleased."

She'd like to think she knows that expression, or at least knows to worry upon seeing it. "Is everything all right, Dany?" she asks carefully, unable to stop herself from it.

"I hope so," Dany says quietly, averting her gaze. "Shall we retire? I don't want to talk just now."

"Of course," Doreah says, climbing to her feet and pulling the blonde up with her, leading her to this foreign bed.  "Whatever you need."

Dany wipes at her mouth, then goes to kiss Doreah's cheek lightly. "Thank you, moon of my life."


End file.
